Never Extinguished
by AnnaAza
Summary: "O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!..." 7. Spark. Two strangers from Ba Sing Se come to the Western Air Temple. One lights the fire. A collection for Zutara Week 2013. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: Calor

**1. Calor**

Katara would have given anything during the coldest winters in the South Pole for a little heat. She heard stories of blistering summers in the Fire Nation, with hot winds and showers that only made the intensity worse. But she did not care at the time, huddling next to her parents and brother for warmth under several bundles of fur and trying to remember what warmth felt like as her feet grew numb.

As Fire Lady, however, she found it nothing short of ironic that she wanted the exact opposite. She did not mind the monsoon season, but the heat, the heat! Autumn carried the hint of the record summers, spring was warm enough that she never put on a long-sleeved robe, and winter—when it should be cool—was merely temperate. Oh, it did snow, but in the northernmost climates, and it did rain and mist a bit in the coastal towns—but at the heart of the Capital, in the middle of a dormant volcano? It was almost an insult to her childhood of quilted snow and howling winds.

Fire Nation summers were the worst and forever changing—scorching so much that she felt as if she were slowly turning on a spit over the hottest part of the fire, the sun glaring down at a constant temperature so that everything baked and cooked, steamy and stifling like the large sauna she and Toph visited in the Fancy Lady Day Spa, oh La! Nothing escaped the heat, and it made everyone in the Palace temperamental, when the Fire Nation was already arguably the most so of the four nations. Katara saw the noblewomen being followed by the steady steam of sweating servants keeping up a shaking but steady breeze with large fans, dressing as lightly as they could in thin silks without straying from Court protocol. The noblemen fumed in their heavy robes and groaned and complained, sipping cool cups of wine as they sprawled listlessly in meetings and dinners.

Katara thanked the spirits that she was a Waterbender. She thanked the spirits that her husband undertook each of her concern with firm devotion, as if planning a battle, showing her the cool storerooms underneath the kitchens, placing cool drinks within her reach during meetings, redirecting a bit of heat from her body, and taking her for a week to the South Pole or Ember Island, depending on their duties. She also thanked the spirits she had a little boy in the winter so she did not labor in sweat and agony as many Fire Nation women did in high summer. She loved his dark curls and gold eyes and his sweet and inquistive nature, but realized soon enough he'd inherited both her brother's wild spirit and her husband's love for warmth, the sun.

The boy loved to run, tearing off in the heat, and Katara would sigh, reluctantly drawing herself out of the shade, and follow him to make sure he didn't get into any mischief. She tried to get him to play in the fountains or sit with her near the turtleduck pond, but to no avail. He raced with himself into the blazing sunlight to the training grounds, watching guards and sometimes his father spar with an open mouth and clumsy mimicry, or sneak down to the stifling pastry kitchens, heated with the cloying smell of glaze and syrup, to beg for a treat before dinner. His favorite season was summer, and he seemed to develop new bursts of energy when the time came, jumping out of bed at dawn and avoiding going to sleep in his candle-lit bedroom until Katara, Zuko, and as few guards, including a swearing Jee, had chased him around the palace.

"He's certainly your son," she remarked to her husband with joking annoyance when he came back from another meeting, watching with amusement as she hauled him from the Fire Nation Royal Sauna, where he had discovered he could sit in a whole room of steam and dash through rising mists, pretending he was one of the dragons the Avatar and the Fire Lord told stories about. Her hair had strayed from her crown with sticky strands pasted onto her sweaty face, the rest forming puffs of curls to her thick hair. Zuko had laughed and patted her hair until she drenched him from head-to-toe with the heated steam from the sauna.

"He has Sokka's...personality," he replied with a short chuckle. "The guards and nurses tell me he's always trying to take the hot air balloons out for a ride or climb some tree to reach an egg tart cooling on a windowsill."

She groaned. "He's going to be a handful when he gets older."

"He is already _two_ handfuls. And we love him."

"Yes," she admitted softly, stroking back his hair from his forehead. "He's always in the heat—I bet I know what sort of bender he's going to be."

Katara and Zuko were strolling in one of the sprawling gardens as they talked, though one broke away from their handhold every few minutes to chase after the rambunctious child when something caught his eye. They followed him to the turtleduck pond, where Katara playfully tackled him onto the soft, mercifully cool grass, right near the quacking creatures.

"Shade!" She sighed, pushing up her long sleeves up and nuzzling him, nose to nose. "Can you stay here, my love?"

"No, no, _no_!" the boy howled with laughter as his mother tickled his tummy, and his father plopped onto the grass on his knees, tweaking his nose.

"Oh, sweetheart, it's too hot to go tearing around like some runaway carriage—" he squirmed as Katara, in vain, tried to pull him to her lap. "Come on, please."

"Have mercy on your poor mother." Zuko smiled wryly as their son began kicking furiously at the ground, grass and loose clods of dirt nearly splattering his face. "She's insufferable when she's hot—"

Katara struggled to elbow him, while trying to keep a hold on her struggling child. "You're not helping, Zuko."

The boy whimpered impatiently. He didn't understand why his father was still talking, his mother still restraining him—he wanted to be free! He wanted to be warm! Swinging his arms, stamping his feet, working up a scream—

The pond exploded, the turtleducks quacking in distress and taking flight, and a large wave crashed down on Katara's head, causing her to let go of her son in shock. Zuko had dove in front of them both belatedly, his own robes drenched and clinging to the skin, but he had no care for that just then.

They watched their son rush away gleefully, fully unaware of what he had just done.

"Well," Katara managed to say as she began to rise with wobbling knees and shaking fingers. "At least that cooled me down."

* * *

_Welcome to Zutara Week 2013! If you want the list of prompts, they are: _

_1. Calor __(Spanish word for "heat")_

_2. Euphoria_

_3. Voices_

_4. Gravity_

_5. Bound_

_6. Soothe_

_7. Spark _

_Zutara Week is from **July 14-20**, so let's see some fingers on the keyboards and words on the screen!_


	2. Chapter 2: Euphoria

**2. Euphoria**

Aang was still clinging to her in shock and exhaustion, arms tightening around her legs. Her hands were streaked faint pink and black and blue, and part of her jacket was charred, along with pieces of her long hair. Her legs were sore from running, and her arms and waist throbbed from where the Autons grabbed her none too gently. But all she felt was electricity coursing through her veins, bubbling and boiling and sparking as she stood in the dimly-lit alley and stared at the man halfway inside the blue police box.

"You can come with me," he said very seriously. He didn't duck his head or backtrack with babbled apologies. He said it as if it was the most logical suggestion in the world. Katara felt no smile brighten her face, no outbreak of sweat, no hands trembling—but inwardly her heart leapt at the idea.

"This box isn't something ordinary, you know." he continued with a slight smirk. "It goes anywhere in the universe, free of charge."

Aang shuddered against her. "Don't. He's...he's an _alien."_ She could feel his fear and disgust rolling off in waves. His jeans were singed from the fire and smelled strongly of melting, burning metallic chains and crackling, blackening wood, while his right arm bore a stinging red streak and several marks like pinpricks. Katara looked down and saw that some of his dark hair was cleanly burned away, revealing a shiny pink scalp among sweat and more cuts. "He's a _thing."_

"He's not invited," the man snapped, then his tone softened. "Katara, you're smart, resourceful, brave...what you did back there—"

"You'd be dead if it wasn't for me." Katara re-iterated firmly, putting her hand on her belt involuntarily, but her bag was gone.

"I would." He said it as if he'd lived died countless times, that he knew exactly how much of a threshold he could step before leaving forever. "What do you think? You could stay here, fill your life with work until it tumbles down upon you, or you could go anywhere."

Katara hesitated. She scraped the toe of her shoe on the asphalt and looked directly at him. "Is it always this dangerous? Could I die?"

He was honest. "Yes." But there was a secret pain hidden and wobbling in his throat. Who died? Who did he love? Who could he not save?

She didn't feel afraid, though. Katara felt as she did as a child while picking up another fantasy adventure book that her mother laid in her lap as a surprise. Excited. Eager. Ready to rush in, turn a new page, leave the mundane world...

She shoved it down. She had responsibilities. She had to go home, find a new job, help her father recover from Mother's death, cook more stew with her grandmother, tease her brother, go back to normal—

But she didn't want it to revert. She took another glance at her boyfriend. He certainly did. He would stumble home and fall asleep and throw himself more than ever into his daily life and pretend this—this...she couldn't put words to it—never happened. But how could she go back, knowing that there were such things as aliens and Autons and adventures and mind control and a mysterious blue box that was bigger on the inside and could travel through galaxies, worlds, space?

"No," the word tumbled out before she could rein it in. "I can't—I—I have to see my father, grandmother, go home, and...and you know."

He just looked at her, nodded, said goodbye. He didn't beg or plead, and Katara felt a mix of intense relief—_he left it to me; he won't make me feel guilty_—and a terrible crushing sadness as he stepped into the police box—_the_ _TARDIS_—and it began to blink on and off.

_Run. Go to it. It's fading away slowly, you can—_

But she didn't. She stood there, legs locked by Aang's arms and something else as it began to fade in the air with every blink. And it finally disappeared. He disappeared. For good.

_Oh._ She stood there for a moment, letting the cold seep in. Aang was getting up, finally, taking her hand. He turned to her, about to say something, when she shook her head and stared at where the TARDIS had been—

And it appeared again and Katara was laughing and he was grinning widely with that smile. Aang was gaping in complete shock. The police box door was open, and he was still hovering in the doorway and announcing in a completely casual manner: "By the way, did I mention it also travels in time?"

Katara laughed again. He smiled again and stepped backwards.

She turned to Aang. "Thank you."

"For what?" He asked, baffled, but with dawning sorrow as he loosened his grip on her fingers, brushing the tips very lightly, still not letting go.

"For being you." She kissed him for the last time and let it linger.

Aang relinquished his grip on her, and Katara turned away from him, running, her feet entering the box with a finality that she was not afraid of.

"Can we get Sokka first?" She asked him as he closed the door behind her.

He made a face of undisguised revulsion. "_Must_ we?"

"You'll learn to love each other," she replied as she ran her fingers over one of the levers very carefully. "Besides, I've got a lot to explain to him."

He sighed. "You're not going to make things easy, are you?"

"No."

Arms embraced her from behind, nose brushing into her hair. "Good. Now let's go get your brother, and we can take it from there. Which time period do you want to visit—past or future?"

Katara smiled and turned to face him as his arm reached around her to start the controls, the other still wrapped around her waist. "The future."

* * *

_A _Doctor Who_ AU! I recently got into the series after months of begging, and I HIGHLY recommend it. I started on the New Who series—"Rose" (1x01) is the first episode. (I'm now on "Day of the Moon")_

_At first, I was going to have Fanboy!Zuko, but then I started watching _Doctor Who_ and this happened. _


	3. Chapter 3: Voices

**3. Voices **

"Miri had not realized that Eskelites spoke with an accent until she noticed how much Liana sounded like an Aslandian. Miri wondered if Liana had practiced long to work the accents of home off her tongue." —_Palace of Stone_, Shannon Hale

Katara listened as Zuko rattled off the agenda for today's meeting, noting how he refused to fiddle his hands, clenching them in his lap as he sat cross-legged in his throne, and reviewed her notes for her proposal. It was the first meeting for her with the Fire Council alone, without any of the Gaang or the nations' ambassadors or leaders to help. She was ready for challenge as her new role of Ambassador that Zuko had bestowed upon her soon after his coronation. Katara tried not to fidget or chew on the inside of her cheek as Zuko's raspy, yet confident voice addressed the next topic: the war orphans.

"My Lord, shouldn't we be discussing the internal affairs of our nation and the trade with the Earth Kingdom instead?" one of the nobles inquired.

_'Shouldn't we be discussing more important matters instead?_' Katara silently translated in her head. Zuko turned his head to look at him, no flames in the way—although his eyes were glowing.

"The war orphans have come from our nation, too, General Yao. This war has not just affected the other three, and I am not undermining their casualties when I say that the war has rebounded on us, and not just after. All of us in this room have lost a loved one—whether it be a relative, friend, or lover—fighting in the war meant for conquering and plunder. If you are so worried about our internal affairs or the trade with the Earth Kingdom, we will discuss it at tomorrow's meeting at length."

"Yes, sire." General Yao was forced to answer. Zuko nodded and turned to face her. "Lady Katara of the Southern Water Tribes has a proposal to help the war orphans. Please give her the proper respect and attention. My lady, you have the floor." He could not openly show her public approval, for fear for blatant favoritism, but his eyes were kind as she rose nervously, papers drinking in her hands.

"Thank you, Fire Lord." she bowed to him, as custom dictated. "My proposal is not simple; it is—" She heard a whisper and a snicker, but decided to go on. "it requires hard work and dedication. The orphanages—most of them—are run-down. Some are put down in kindness, others in haste. My—" Now she hears it—mimicry, not as expert as the sparrowkeets in Ba Sing Se, but exaggerated and audacious like the Ember Island Players. She's more aware of her tongue and the placement of it and the way her words slur and blend together unlike the local dialect, and her cheeks grow hot.

"—This is about the children, not just about diplomacy. The children's innocence has—have been shattered in the Hundred Year War, and nothing can compared—compare to losing your parents..."

Katara notices the more nervous she gets, the more her vowels blur together and her words falter, but she refuses to let this stop her. Are they even listening to her plan? She remembers the hours and days planned, ink stains on her hands, talking it over with Zuko, rehearsing and pacing...

"That's enough!" she nearly jumps at Zuko's angry tone, but it isn't directed at her. "Silence! Do not disrespect her!" He gestures for her to go on, but she hasn't calmed her breath long enough, and it's trembling and shaky and she fears that it'll be her undoing. What a stupid ending for her, almost undone by petty words and looks. But her dignity must be salvaged, she decides firmly, so she lifts her chin and stares at Zuko straight in the eye.

"My Lord, I have finished with my part," she lies smoothly. "It is your turn."

Zuko looks a bit surprised, but he quickly wipes his face clean of all emotions before this can be caught. He nods, shooting her a quiet glance of concern, and glances down at the copy of her papers in his hands (as Fire Lord, he has every single plan in front of him).

Katara sits back and lets Zuko take over, enunciating her plan and wrapping it up, offering discussion. The proposal is eventually agreed upon, and she bows in acceptance.

She does not speak again for the rest of the meeting.

* * *

"I'm so sorry about that, Katara."

In spite of herself, she smiles. Trust Zuko to apologize for a roomful of noblemen and take all the responsibility. They're having a private dinner in the main dining room, Katara at his right side, the huge table empty. Zuko is anxiously staring at her over his roasted komodo-chicken.

"It's all right, Zuko." she soothes, involuntarily noticing how her voice compares to his—he has that faint lisp, to be sure, but there's that clear, sharp tone beneath it, no shuddering of words. Her accent isn't as prominent as her father's or Arnook's—they've mostly been around other Water Tribesmen—presumably because of her traveling, but it's still there.

"No, it's not. I thought after the war, after the summits and meetings, they'd stop, but...stupid of me to think..." Zuko stabbed his chicken with such force that his plate shuddered. "I wish they let you finish, Katara. I don't think I did as well as you did."

She smiled softly and takes a bite out of her smoked sea-slug. Spicy. "I...didn't realize I sounded quite as...different."

"Your words were more important than..." he hesitated.

"My accent." Katara finishes for him. "I know. I knew yours was different when we first met. Sokka and I never have heard Fire Nation really speak to us before." She blushed again, remembering while on the run, the siblings would mimic Zuko unkindly. Aang had looked, but hadn't said much. He must have been too embarrassed to speak up, probably thinking of his own friends back in the Fire Nation who spoke the same way. She wondered what would have happened if he had said something.

"Me too. Your voice...for a Waterbender..." he looked at her and hesitated again. He stuffed another piece of komodo chicken into his mouth.

"What, your Highness?" she asked, curiously, almost playfully.

"It sounded like a Waterbender's." he quickly muttered, looking down. "Like how I imagined it."

"Oh." Katara remembered the propaganda textbooks she helped haul out one month and the entries on the Water Tribes. Zuko had shook his head and refused to look at them. She felt herself flush red once again, and it definitely wasn't out of pleasure again.

* * *

Katara focused on her words, trying to speak quickly. It didn't change much. She tried to practice alone, reading out of scrolls and remembering the old days of mimicking Zuko and trying to imitate him. It took trial and error, but she spoke in full length about the progress in the war orphans plan at the next meeting without hearing any snickers.

Zuko often looked at her oddly as weeks passed, and finally, he stopped her while on a walk together.

"Katara," he asked of her. "say _apple_ for me."

"Apple." She parroted easily. Katara gave him an easy smile, as if she didn't know what was going on, but he wasn't fooled. Zuko appraised her and asked her to repeat several more words, including the ones where she'd struggled for weeks—the most difficult ones, the ones where her accent showed the most and still did sometimes if she was not careful. She didn't falter for a second and stared at him when he stopped.

He stared back and thought for a moment. "Continue talking, please."

She did. Zuko never interrupted or interjected and only nodded. "Stop," he eventually commanded.

"Katara, what..." He scratched his head and continued. "You sound...different. Like...Fire Nation."

She only looked at him. "I do."

"You've only been here for a few weeks; you shouldn't be...it's not long enough..." Zuko was in deduction mode. "Katara, you didn't..."

She refused to look at him.

_"Katara!"_ He looked indignant and pulled her closer by the forearms. "I...why?"

She shook her head.

"I..." the tip of his ear turns red. "I liked it. It sounded smooth and nice and flowing. Like a Waterbender. Like you."

She's gaping at him, and he's now guiding her back to his office. "We're going to have a chat, my lady."

"Stop bossing me around!" she snaps, and the "o" sound turns into an "oo" and "ah" drags atrociously, and Katara flames in mortification as the passing noblewomen stare and look away, doubtless tittering in their upheld fans.

* * *

"This is what I'm talking about, Katara." he's siting her down in his office and pulling out some papers. "You can't be embarrassed."

"I am," she protested angrily, wincing at the pronounced vowels. "Stop making me angry! I _hate_ that!"

"Katara..." Zuko looks at her sadly, with pity. She refuses to look at him. "I know what it's like, to be gawked at. But you can't—"

"You don't know what it's like to be laughed at every time you speak!" Katara snaps, and Zuko's eyes darken.

"I do." He leans forward and puts down the papers. "You have noticed my...lisp, _haven't_ you?"

"...Yes." Katara can see that she's shoved Zuko's buttons and pushed them hard, and by the way his eyes are looking, it looks like it'll be another pleasant story from his childhood.

"It was worse when I was a child. Much worse." Zuko glances out the window and stares far away. "I couldn't pronounce the 'sss' sounds and just rasped along the sharp sounds and spat. Worst, I had to go to the Fire Nation Academy for Boys—where all the noble-boys went. I had to read out loud every single day of the year in front of the class. Do you know how embarrassing that was for me, _especially_ because I was the Prince, supposed to be looked upon and praised? No one dared to openly tease me, but I heard every single whisper, every little taunt."

Katara bites her lip and looks down. Zuko isn't done.

"When I got back for the holidays, my father heard of it. He got me all of these tutors to help. All they did was humiliate me if I couldn't read right. They would make me repeat sentences and words and phrases over and over, and I just...couldn't. Father...would hit me. He thought I wasn't trying hard enough.

"My mother helped. She would seek me out and shoo the tutors away. She made up games and tongue twisters and stories to help me. She would drill me every day. When I had to go back, she'd find out what would be read and tell me so I could look them up and practice.

"Thank the gods Azula was a toddler when this was happening. She didn't tease me. She didn't get a chance, because she never learned about the whole reading out loud thing. Father covered it all up. That was before he forgot to care about about the general public opinion about the Fire Prince."

"Zuko..."

"I'm not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me or to get your accent back. It's wrong...it was wrong for me to laughed at; it was wrong for you to be laughed at. But my...speech impediment was different. It needed to be corrected—I was going to speak in public a lot, for one thing. But they have no right to be telling you that your accent should be...it. That's your identity, Katara."

Identity...

She taps her fingers, remembering Aang's dialect that reminded her, appropriately, of wind chimes, high and chiming, while Toph, though she covered it with roughened language and snarks, had a slight "posh" (as Sokka once called it) accent like her parents. In the short time Suki had been with them, she'd sounded a bit different from all the group—not quite Earth Kingdom, but with a clear, crisp voice like autumn leaves. Haru, Teo, and the Duke all sounded slightly different, too, despite being from the Earth Kingdom. And there were the different languages, too. The last time she spoke her native tongue was...the day she found Aang, when she spoke to Gran Gran about storing meat.

"...Zuko." Katara says thoughtfully and letting her tongue caress the "zz" sound that she found, at first, difficult to say. "Thank you."

* * *

Katara does well for many years as the Southern Water Tribe Ambassador, traveling from her home to the Fire Nation and in-between. She makes speeches at almost every meeting, and her voice grows stronger and more confident, sometimes echoing around the room. She notices Zuko when this happens one day, smiling softly at her, eyes glinting in the new, somewhat dim, electric light Sokka invented, loosely holding reams of paper in his hands. It is not until she eventually finishes her proposal on reforms in Republic City that she realizes that he's been doing that for a very, very long time.

They arrive back in the Fire Nation together, this time, holding hands.

* * *

"You'll have to make a speech when you address the crowd," her soon-to-be husband informed her cautiously and twisted his hands together. "Do you...are you okay with that?"

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his nose. "Of course."

* * *

_Notes: I really hope I did this particular prompt well and described speech impediments accurately and in a way that did not offend anyone. The same goes with accents. As you can see, I took the inspiration from a line from _Palace of Stone_, sequel of _Princess Academy. _The quote from the summary is from_ Goose Girl, _another novel by Shannon Hale. Don't be discouraged by Stephenie Meyer's quote on the cover on some editions. Her books are wonderful! (Not Meyer's)_

_I would really love to hear what you guys think and leave feedback so I know if you've enjoyed these prompts. There have been many views and alerts for this collection (thank you), but please drop a few words. _


	4. Chapter 4: Gravity

**4. Gravity**

He remembered it well.

The heat of the day, sticky on his face with Mai's blood painted on his hands. Her horrified gasp as the metal chains with the heavy balls at the end hit her directly on her head, then her chest. How he had rushed to her, panicking at the blood that was spilling from her. The pain of her struggling to keep her eyes open. Her eyes remained open, and it was worse than if Mai had closed her eyes. Mai still looked alive, and Zuko always woke up from his nightmares with heavy gasps and vomiting into a bucket beside his bed or sometimes, now, nothing at all. He sits up and stares at the wall and is silent with a gouging ache in his chest and tears he had not yet learned to keep at bay.

He did his Resistance work methodically. He killed to bring peace; that's what he told himself. He did not deny the relief it brought, the relief that sickened him. He was alive. Sokka had told him that it was normal, but he still stared at himself for a long while in the mirror, his war-weary eyes that shouldn't belong on a seventeen year old.

When Sokka asked him to guard his sister, he had nodded, let his hair grow out into his eyes, bought new clothes, and hacked into the records to create a new identity for himself. He had enrolled in the girl's school, a very competitive school that required brains or buckets of money. He played the title of the haughty rich bastard who dumped girls like a routine very well while keeping an eye on her. She seemed to be trying not to be noticed or notice anyone. He would feel a vague sense of pity when she failed. She couldn't help making bonds with someone, despite her efforts not to.

She disliked him, and this suited him somehow. No danger, he told himself, but refused to finish his sentence. He admired her skill in weapons and her determination in her worst area of hand-to-hand. He admitted that she was comely, with dark, wavy hair with big blue eyes. His thoughts were like his work: simple, analytic, cautious to a point.

He found himself watching her more than what Sokka instructed him to do. He slowly began to talk to her, words slowly forming. He felt something warm and cold at the same time softly burst in his chest when she greeted him in a soft voice, with a gentle smile. She had turned to rifle through her messenger bag for an assignment at the same time when he reached out to receive it when his hand grazed her bare arm. She started, but handed him the paper without comment. He smelled something sweet that he couldn't exactly recall, but when he sat down in his next class, he knew. The same perfume...the same that Mai wore during their little trysts in the training room when all went to bed.

That night he threw up. He wished to call in sick for the Resistance when he spent the night ravaged with nightmares of Mai. But he didn't, because the city needed him.

It was too late for him to break the bond. She had grasped hold of him. He let himself feel again, carefully, but groping blindly for something he couldn't express. It was as he was traveling across a narrow bridge with no sides to grip with occasional bursts of light allowed him to see the abyss below. He allowed himself to hold her hand or place a casual hand on her arm. He tried not to flinch when she pulled away or stiffened at the contact. He tried not to breathe when the time came when she forgot to remove his hand, the moment as fragile and delicate as a candle in a storm.

Zuko then found himself on a "study date" with the girl. He wished he was normal. That this wasn't wartime. That they'd be sneaking in kisses and touches with the formulas. That Katara would be happily leaning in. That he didn't feel a tiny surge of betrayal or fear when he looked at her.

They had decided to take a break and watch a movie. It was a stupid but funny movie about a couple battling secret agents. When the two lovers kissed as the building behind them blew up in a combustion of fire and ash, Zuko quietly placed his hand on her knee. He watched as she turned towards him with a sad look that made him recoil and remove his hand so abruptly that it jolted the bowl of popcorn between them.

"Why?" he asked, raising his hand to trace a strand of hair on her smooth face.

"Z—" She was swallowed in gentle pressure on her lips, fingers lightly stroking her cheek. But it didn't last long when Katara shoved him as hard as she could away from him. His back hit the armrest.

"Go home, Zuko." she told him, trembling, touching her lips.

Something slid from him, there, and he realized it was a smile. He grabbed his red backpack, shoveling in papers and textbooks pell-mell with something akin to anger and rejection and frustration. Katara sat down on the couch rather helplessly, rounding her lips to pass forward the first syllable of his name, but it never came out. Zuko fumbled with the buckle and slid the closed backpack onto his shoulders.

"I have to go," he said roughly, throat stretching towards the four walls.

"I know." Katara whispered, looking away, fiddling with her braid for something to do with her hands.

"See you Monday."

"Yes."

Zuko opened the door and paused to flip up the hood of his dark jacket. "Lock the door behind you, Katara."

"I always do." she answered, seeming surprised.

"Good." His voice was too harsh, too cold. He softened it as he began to close the door. "Good night, Katara."

Katara let out a soft, tremulous "good night" as he stepped into the cold night.

They still saw each other—Zuko still faithfully guarded her, while Katara, despite her jumps whenever she heard footsteps behind her or a careless slam of a door, still smiled at him and waited by the front gate so he could escort her home. They didn't hold hands, no matter how Zuko fantasied about it, her warm hand slipping into his on a chilled day, her eyes gazing up shyly at him through long eyelashes, faint pink coloring her cheeks. Her arms were instead clutched around a textbook, while his fists clenched in his pockets, and their eyes never wandered from the forward destination.

They talked, though, as cautiously as they could. Katara told him about her brother, his role in the Resistance, something she never should have revealed, something that made Zuko look behind him on instinct. Did she know how dangerous this was, talking to him so flippantly about the Resistance and taking down the Equalists? For her, she was sharing a secret, a secret that could get him the tallest mansion in the city and her and her brother a death sentence. Her mother was killed, her father dead in early Resistance work, and her grandmother had passed away a year ago from a heart attack. Did the girl know nothing?

He pretended he was an ordinary, ignorant boy as always, eagerly nodding while she whispered secret missions at her house or softly mentioned a hero—Haru, who had been killed with his father against the Lieutenant of the mad group—in a tea shop, but all he wanted to do was take her by the shoulders and shake her. Did she not know the seriousness of it all? Telling him, whom she thought was a friend, about her rebellious thoughts and information?

He was torn between scolding the girl and hiding her away or kissing her and holding her close.

She _trusted_ him.

A year passed before Zuko knew it, and he tried to find ways for him to be with her, since school presented no more excuses, and her brother made it no secret about his objection to her joining the Resistance, which meant Zuko's separate identity was kept in the dark. Sokka was getting more anxious by the day, checking over his shoulder and fiddling with his house key. After one of their more dangerous raids—Sokka's leg broke with a well-aimed blow, and Zuko had to reset it before someone caught them, a rag clenched between Sokka's teeth as he fought off rising screams from the pain and the sharp snap—Sokka had retrieved his will hidden in his desk and spent a few moments crossing a few words out and adding a postscript to the bottom. Zuko had watched him out of the corner of his eye as Song stitched his arm, and finally, Sokka came up to him, limping, and pressed a spare house key into his shaking palm.

"If I die, take Katara far away and run, far, far, away. I know she comes of age soon," Sokka sighed and looked at his lap. "and if she finds out about this, about me, she'll want to help. In fact, I know she'll want to get involved. She always mentions it when I get home." He leaned forward, then cursed as he jarred a recent wound, stitches that Song had not yet taken out. "How's my sister lately?"

"Her Waterbending? She's a...prodigy." Zuko shuddered at the broken nightmares of blue fire and madness when they surrounded her and struck her with lightning of their own, contorting her into nothing more than wild screams, but it was the best way to describe her. But no—he'd seen Katara, the fear in her eyes when he had caught her twisting away water from the floor in the careless safety of her house. He'd shown her his Firebending, a tiny flame bobbing between his fingers, and wished she knew about the Resistance's well-equipped sparring ring, but they instead practiced in a hidden field near his apartment. Katara had relished in knowledge and a proper opponent, but he alone knew the red streaks of paints that swirled so elegantly across her moonlit face, the gauzy veil and the wide-brimmed conical hat, the hand-sown costume.

He nearly laughed at the irony. Here was the girl Sokka was trying to shield, whom he was afraid for, and here she was, the little vigilante who worked on her own and saved citizens. Not that the Resistance cared nothing for the people, but Katara told him that they did not do enough to protect them. She showed him how the Equalists harassed suspected benders, destroyed the houses of rebels, lurked on every corner, tried to trip someone up into giving away a secret. But she also showed him how nonbenders were being treated. They were underpaid, overworked, taunted and abused by benders, cowed into submission or cornered into rebellion. She knew she didn't fully understand their problems, but she tried to help in small ways.

He realized she talked, too. She gave speeches. But she healed and she fought, and to win, you had to lose.

"Be careful," he always told her, and she always smiled back.

"I always am, Zuko." Her eyes had shone on that night, like polished sapphires. "This is a way I can help."

"I'm coming with you."

"Zuko—" her tone was annoyed and impatient, yet resigned, when he finally showed her broadswords and a blue mask. She had touched the carved wood of his hidden identity with light fingertips, then had leaned in. She had held the veil away from her face. He had not moved, not even to take off his mask.

"She's a fighter, but she's a healer. And—" He was rubbing the key between his fingers like a lock of hair, not looking at Sokka. "she's kind and strong and cautious and...lots of things."

Sokka smiled at him, grasped his shoulder. "I did the right thing. Picking you." He then looked away. "But I want a life for Katara, you know? No hiding. No fear. No worry. She shouldn't have to...I never want that for her."

Zuko saw the blows, the metal bolos to Mai's head and chest, that smashed her bones and crushed her lungs, how she didn't die right away, how stubborn she was for two days, how she held his hand, how she screamed in the night and bled, how he thought she would pull through because he loved her. He thought of Katara, broken and crushed, eyes staring at nothing, blood dripping on the pristine hospital bed, a faint ghost of a smile. And he nodded, closing his fingers around the key.

* * *

_A few years ago, I wrote an AU piece for Zutara Week that involved Katara and Zuko in an Anti-Bending world ruled by Amon, based on the scatterings of information we had about the _Legend of Korra. _I meant to write a whole fic about it, and some of this is actually the prologue to explain why Zuko stayed away from Katara._

_"Gravity"—Of grave consequence, seriousness, or importance. _


	5. Chapter 5: Bound

**5. Bound**

She doesn't remember the first time she Waterbended. But it was certainly something that set her apart from the rest of her tribe. A celebration, she was told with lingering envy from Sokka, was held on the night she opened a fissure in the family igloo. There were uncertain, half-hoped moments before this—little bubbles in her previously still cup, a frost over the morning stew, a splash of an irregular wave—but her father would always roar at her temper, her spirit, her fire whenever he recalled her little mittened hands cracking solid ice over not being allowed to go on a hunting trip.

"And why should you," Sokka sulked, stabbing at the sea prunes he normally loved so much. "You're just a _girl."_

Katara stuck out her tongue at him over her own generously-topped bowl.

She's the first Waterbender in many generations. She's grown up hearing stories of brave Waterbenders defending their homes, her home, with incredible feats of power. Her family heaps praise upon her, her village smiles and tries to tell her about some Waterbending forms and relatives, she can stand out from her brother who always brags about being a warrior, and she's allowed to practice her Waterbending, just as long as she doesn't neglect her duties.

Gran Gran always told her that she could do anything, glancing at her mother, her throat where the blue pendant gleamed in the cooking fire's light.

"You're not restricted by anything except yourself, little one," she said to her while Katara was fingering her mother's necklace one day on her lap. Her mother had agreed, kissing her hair, telling her she can rise high if she wants, create a wave that reaches above the clouds. Katara laughs at the image, then tries to pull the water up, up, upwards the next day.

Katara's brother dismisses it and laughs if she drops a water ball she's so carefully tried to keep up for more than ten seconds. Katara would like to have more practice, but her grandmother and mother keep telling her to stop and do some chores. Her father tries to search for teachers, but fails. Katara would love to learn more! She knows she can be great! The tribe can benefit so much! She's heard the stories: pull fish from giant bubbles from the sea, haul more water for cooking and cleaning, help Sokka with hunting with some ice knives, defend home if the Fire Nation attacks. But nothing. The North is a world away. Every day is a struggle to survive. She can't just leave home to become a master and not help the village.

And she does. Katara keeps looking back, and perhaps that's her problem, but she can see the vast leaps of progress she's gained. She's a Waterbending Master in her own right—generous and good-hearted, terrible and tremulous, controlled and confident. And beautiful. She knows the talk, especially now that she has time to listen to the gossip. There are songs about her, for spirit's sake, songs of a lovely Waterbending maiden who can tear down cities or bring the dead to life. There's a small play, not by the Ember Island Players, that tells about her life, though a bit exaggerated (she doesn't remember healing all of the fallen Waterbenders or destroying twelve battleships during the Siege of the North). There's a court position for her, Ambassador of the Southern Water Tribe, and a soft smile from Fire Lord Zuko when she sits at his right hand when Aang is not in the palace.

She's free and happy and knows it all, or thinks she does. Home is far away, but she always finds a little piece here and there. News, small things, by messenger hawk. Gran Gran sends her a recipe for sea prunes and scarf that she will never wear. Pakku tells her he has many girl students now, one little girl citing Katara as the reason to join his class. She catches a whiff of penguin meat, which is selling nicely in Fire Nation markets. It doesn't snow in the Fire Nation, but there are monsoons and hurricanes, and she misses blizzards, if that can be believed. Sokka writes to her from the brightly-lit Republic City, telling her that he's thinking about taking up the open chieftain position at the Southern Water Tribe.

She is able to travel freely without bounty hunters or Firebenders at her tail and loves it. She gets to know everything and everyone. She loves her post, her Waterbending, the food, the festivals, the word duels, the Fire Lord. She loves him, and she hasn't felt this way about anyone, truly. Whispers fly around—a powerful woman scheming for a powerful lord and a higher position besides. She pays them no mind, and she and Zuko begin a courtship at the heart of the Fire Nation, whether it is strolling through the gardens or kissing in the library. They sneak smiles and playful touches at meetings, and whenever Katara hears a particularly ignorant or idiotic comment from one of the nobles or ambassadors, Zuko always catches her eye and gives her a sympathetic look or a raised eyebrow. They sometimes stay up all night, holed up in his office with pots of tea and platters of dumplings, trying to find solutions and making trips to the library to uncover law or history scrolls. Contrary to popular gossip, the couple doesn't spend nights in bed, between the sheets—Katara holds to her traditions, and they both find new ways to please each other.

Zuko kisses her as if she's the only girl in the world. He shows her exotic spices in the bazaars and laughs when she eats a whole pepper the vender warned her not to taste. He's at her side, her back, in every function and festival, the latter if he can be persuaded to attend one outside of forced Fire Lord protocol. He holds her and lifts her a little in the hot air balloon so she can get a better look at the ground below. Once she swears she brushes a cloud and laughs, and he looks puzzled but kisses her just the same.

She tells him she loves him, and she does. But every time a hot wind blows uncomfortably against her silk robes, she thinks of the cold, the crunch of snow beneath soft pelt boots, a sting of a snowball. Zuko takes her to picnic on the beach, and she loves the warm tropical waters, blue-green and swaying in time to the palm trees, surrounded by brilliant white sand. But she keeps thinking of rocking ice floes that would bump against the boat, an endless sheet of glittering whiteness, sea prunes that slid down her throat so easily.

She thinks of home, and it isn't the Fire Nation.

She arrives home for an ambassador commute and her feet are solid on the ground and she feels like a part of her was missing but is now in place.

She thinks of a Firebender in the center of a dormant volcano and sighs.


	6. Chapter 6: Soothe

**6. Soothe**

_(Kind of a sequel to **Calor)**_

The nobles, every chance they had, nitpicked every single thing that went wrong in the Fire Lord and Lady's life, focusing in on, of course, the Waterbender Fire Lady. They criticized on how she didn't exclusively change her colors to red to integrate with the Royal Family _(she even had the audacity to wear red with her blue robes)_, how she bought food and clothes from the lower class_ (as if the upper ring's silks and fine delicacies weren't suitable—or she's too low-born to appreciate them),_ how the Fire Lord let the audacious girl argue with him during the meetings_ (and when she had the honor to be at his right hand, too!),_ how she was not pregnant after the span of one year _(was she infertile? My daughters, perhaps, could have a second chance...)._ Yes, they disapproved of Katara of the Southern Water Tribe, who held a higher rank than all of them put together.

But their disapproval lessened considerably when she gave birth to a healthy boy. Although the boy was born in the middle of winter, stories of how he sought out heat and warmth comforted them immensely. Why, the boy was certain to be a strong Firebender! The little Prince even had a Fire citizen's golden eyes and dark hair, resembling his father's bloodline more so than his mother's.

So Katara wasn't surprised to see disappointed and even baleful looks when Zuko announced in a meeting that their son was a Waterbender. She almost froze a particularly prejudiced windbag who had the nerve to groan out loud, albeit quietly, to the ceiling. Katara didn't expect the news to be received with joy—although some council members were more open to changes than others and were now sincerely congratulating them—she wanted to seethe. It was obvious that her son wouldn't have brightly-lit festivals, head-patting families and friends, cheers or simple words of encouragement, and stories of brave Waterbenders in both legends and real life. It didn't matter that her son also had Zuko's blood and was the rightful heir to the Fire Nation throne.

She listened quietly as Zuko discussed the benefits of electricity being made more available throughout the Fire Nation. The only question she had going through her mind was: _how do I raise my son where almost everyone hates him?_

* * *

The Fire Lady fell to her knees and opened her arms to receive an eager little pupil.

"Mom!" his eyes darted around the spacious training arena eagerly, focusing on the training dummies he liked to watch his father practice against. His father had already taught him a few basic moves, and he liked to whack the soft bags of rice fashioned into miniature versions of Father's wooden figures.

"Hello, sweetheart. How were your lessons today?"

He stuck out his tongue. _"Boring."_

"Boring!" She feigned a horrified gasp. "Surely one thing interested you!"

His teeth worried a bit of his upper lip as he placed a pensive hand on his chin as if preparing to stroke a long, sage-like beard. He was really giving it a great deal of thought, Katara silently chuckled in amusement. Finally, he peered up at his mother, finger pointed upwards. "I liked learning about the turtleducks and Komodo Rhinos!"

_Oh, you!_ She kissed his forehead. "So you like your tutor's lessons about animals?"

"Aang's stories are better," he hedged, but with firm honesty as he continued on. "But I don't get why he sometimes goes off about trees and leaves and stuff."

"Well," she said gently. "He's teaching you the flora and fauna of the Fire Nation. Flora means the plants and the land, and fauna means the animals. I had to learn those too, but when I was much older than you. "

"You did?" He gazed up at her reverently. "Did you like it?"

"Some parts very much," she said with a small smile, remembering Zuko's version of teaching her geography. "You just have to get through it. Now—" she clapped her hands. "Let's see if you've been practicing!"

After a brief spar (Katara had to cautiously adjust her Waterbending level), she dragged out a dummy with chi-paths painstakingly drawn throughout the body. Yugoda had sent it as a gift, along with a few practice ones for the students, for when Katara was teaching some of the new generation of Southern Water Tribe Waterbenders, and it was still in rather good condition.

"Today, we're going to learn something a bit different." Katara began, sitting down and patting the puppet with one hand. "Do you remember what _qi_ is?"

"It's energy, right?"

"Exactly," she began to bend a small stream of water out of a nearby pot. "Now, as Waterbenders, we're able to heal injuries, such as a scraped knee, by redirecting energy paths, or _qi_, throughout the body. Some Waterbenders have this ability, and some don't. But we're just going to see if you have the potential. Now..." she gestured for him to pay attention. "take some water and place it on the wounded part of the body. In this case, the chest—" she pointed to the darkened spot with one finger, the water still clinging to her hand like a strange, transparent glove. She then placed both open palms over the "injury," the water forming over both hands, and took a shallow breath.

_Zuko! Her hands were tingling with the aftermath of the lightning, and she nearly cried out in pain. His ragged wound was pulsing as her hands shook for the briefest second. Zuko, Zuko, Zuko..._

Unbeknownst to her, the blackened spot disappeared, and the qi paths glowed a silver-blue that reflected against the metal shields and spears in the arena. Her son clapped eagerly, then stopped when he saw a haunted look in the blue eyes, something he'd never seen before. "Mom? Mom?"

She was gasping, too much, as if she did not have enough air, as if she had run across a fire-laced arena, as if she had not ran fast enough...something tightened around her throat, clawing and choking her, _gagging_ her—tears and sweat were pouring down her face as hands were shaking her by the shoulders. Someone was wailing, screaming, crying, calling for _help, please, anybody!_

..._Zuko? Is that him? Is he all right? Please let him be all right! _

There was lightning snapping around her, but she had to heal Zuko, she had to save him, but her chest was burning and leaping, but no, he was hurt, not her! If she couldn't heal, then he would die...no, please...

She bent further forward, as if knocked in the gut, gasping for the pain. Crackling filled her ears.

Her hands were on his chest, his stone-cold dead chest, cold, too cold—

No. _No_. The feeling underneath her hands was not flesh. It was not Zuko.

Her breaths lessened and steadied into a rhythm. She forced herself to look at her water-covered hands, no longer glowing, then at her son, who looked visibly terrified and panic-stricken as she heard the hurried footfalls of the guards rushing towards them.

"And that's healing." Her breath was still caught in her throat. _Zuko's alive. He's in a meeting now, and I'm teaching his—our son—how to Waterbend. It's all right. _"I have tried to explain how to do it, but what I feel is...well, instinct. What helps some people is imagining the wound being healed." She fixed the dummy again, making sure the chest wound wasn't too difficult to heal for him. Her hands still trembled, and when she blinked, tears still ran down her cheeks, drying from salt. Her voice was unusually calm, but she felt as if she were balancing on top of a soaring Appa on the very tips of her toes. "Like the wound closing up. It takes concentration and patience. Try focusing your energy into the wound, as if giving the person a bit of your strength."

He nodded solemnly and mimicked her motions, eyes still wide and afraid. The water was shivering, but it clung to his hands well enough. His eyes closed as the water shuddered more violently over the "wound."

"Gentle." Katara cautioned him, watching both the water and the dummy with careful eyes. Just before the water went limp and her son groaned in frustration, she caught a small flicker in one of the _qi_ paths, almost like a glint of sunlight, just as Jee's foot stepped inside.

"I'm all right." Katara told him, voice now betraying a shake. "I'm all right."

* * *

"How was the Waterbending lesson, Tara? Did everything go okay?"

Katara sighed as she folded herself into her husband's waiting arms, her hand carefully touching his star-shaped wound. He looked at her curiously in the dark, golden eyes asking a question, as she silently traced the lightning's fury marked on his pale skin. It still stung in predictions of rainy or stormy weather, but there was no pain. Katara had healed him well, making sure to give him regular healing sessions after the attack.

"Did something happen?"

She closed her eyes and took his face into her cool palms. "I was teaching him healing with the puppet Yugoda gave me. I was demonstrating how to open the_ qi_ paths when something happened."

He sat up in alarm. "Are you guys okay? Did someone hurt you?"

She ran her hand through his hair. "No, Zuko. But...I was healing this chest wound on the dummy, and I...I was taken back to when you got this." A finger, with careful gentleness, traced the puckered edges. "I don't know what happened, exactly. But it was like I was transported, trapped in that moment, in pain, too."

He pulled her closer, kissing her, the faintest brush of lips against hers. "I know what you mean. It's happened to me."

"Where?"

He sighed, drawing her closer with one arm, the covers rustling softly. "On the ship. On the run. At the temple. At the house. At the palace. Almost everywhere."

"Zuko!" She murmured in dismay as a large hand manuvered itself to cradle the back of her head. "You should have told me. How could I have not noticed?"

"I got some help when I returned home. But they became less frequent when I joined your group," he told her, stroking her hair reassuringly. "They became restricted to nightmares, which I was good at hiding. I've had practice." He started to roll over, burying his face in his pillow, avoiding her horrified gasp and tender touch. "I've been talking to the head physician. Do you want to see him?"

"I don't know." She admitted. "I feel better now."

"It can happen again." Zuko warned her, pulling another blanket over their forms. Katara curled up into the warmth, nuzzling deeper into the red silk and pale chest, not saying a word. He leaned over to kiss her brow. "But want to know something, Katara?"

"What?" She yawned sleepily, eyes already closed against the dark.

"I will never leave you again. Promise."


	7. Chapter 7: Spark

**7. Spark**

"How long, exactly, have you been standing there?" Katara snapped just as she was exiting from the room.

He was leaning against the temple's wall casually, just right behind her back, and his hair dangled ever-so-bewitchingly in his eyes, which held a glint of amusement. She both hated and envied his ease, the way he straightened up and walked towards her, his long strides and easy movements reminding her of the grace of a lazy tiger-dillo, hand perched on his hip, next to his two swords. He inclined his head towards her, and she fought a smile, but failed.

"Long enough, Kat." He'd taken to calling her that ever since he'd stepped off the ship, ready to fight for freedom for the long-waited invadion. It slipped from his tongue as easily as though he'd been doing it his whole life, and it fit comfortably, somehow. _It's short and sharp and reminds me of a puma-cat, always observing but ready to pounce._ "You have him quite the scare. You didn't even have to bend Ba Sing Se's entire water supply at him."

She flushed and continued to glare at him, but more forced. "You deserved it!"

"I won't be a fool to go against you, Kat." he smiled, moving in closer, taking her hand. She felt his warmth through the hand guard, the wraps, and told herself not to blush. "Besides, that bastard Firebender deserves it."'

"What did he do to you? Did you meet?" She asked, as they began to walk down the hallway. It was almost lunchtime.

"In Ba Sing Se." If she flinched at the name, he didn't comment on it. "He lied to me, him and his fat uncle, and we ended up dueling. The Dai Li took me away for causing trouble, so they said."

"Not him?" She exclaimed indignantly. "So it's his fault you were..._brainwashed_ and almost...almost died?"

"I'm all right now, Kat." He smoothly maneuvered her to face him, almost nose to nose, took her hand, and placed it on his chest. "Listen. Strong and steady."

"That doesn't change how you almost died! Do you know how_...scared_ I was? How guilty that I never really forgave you and _let you_ die? And then you showed up with Pipsqueak and The Duke and were just so_ alive_ and the same? You were real!" She remembered embracing him, nearly sobbing in front of her startled father and an equally-so Bato and her friends. He was holding her now, close to his blessedly breathing, warm body, and she was breathing in the familiar scent of pines and dust and earth and metal and sweat and musk. His fingers were now smoothing her hair, stroking it lazily.

"I'm still here, Kat." He lifted her chin and kissed her, and she froze. It was gentle and reassuring and was over far too soon before she could fully think, but she knew before his lips moved away that she had kissed him back. "Let's get lunch. I'm famished."

She smiled. "Okay, Jet."

* * *

"...And it's all about _Zuko_ now! How_ Zuko_ showed Aang a new Firebending trick! How _Zuko_ can spar with swords like Sokka! How_ Zuko_ can be Toph's personal ostrich-horse! How he's _everybody's_ best friend!"

"I don't like how he offered to teach The Duke sword-fighting." Jet muttered, stirring the rice for her while she made simple stir-fry, comprised of scavenged vegetables and some meat (a separate vegetables-only for Aang), for dinner. She watched, or rather heard, Aang and Toph's Esrthbending practice always from the courtyard or more delicate structure of the temple. Sokka was exploring with Haru and The Duke and Teo, while she had set Zuko on a task of rearranging the cupboards so she could keep an eye on him.

"Exactly! Those swords are far too heavy and far too dangerous for him!"

"I wanted to teach The Duke myself one of these days. Start him off with perhaps a dagger, transition into a sword if he wants." Jet mused thoughtfully. "He could be a good archer; he's really good at his slingshot." He added with a nod.

"I suppose, but...I just don't like the idea of an eight year old learning how to hurt people."

"I don't either, Kat. But it's war—we're growing up too fast, but we have to learn how to defend ourselves and be strong, so nothing happens to us or the people we love." He kissed her cheek as she finished the stir-fry and she did the same, telling him that the rice was done. She banged on a pot (Jet winced), calling the time, and ordered Zuko to tell Toph and Aang and whoever else didn't hear.

Jet grimaced as Zuko walked away. "I don't trust him."

"Neither do I. He's probably just biding his time." Katara scowled. "He's gaining everyone's trust one by one, then once he has us, he's going to sell us out. Mark my words. He's done that before."

"I can believe that. Especially since he's the Prince of them all. He must have some master tactics. He certainly fooled me for a while. He told me he was starting over and trying to live peacefully in Ba Sing Se."

"You too?"

"Me too? How did he trick you, Kat? From what I've heard, you guys were always on the run from him. Sokka said you got captured by him once—was that when?"

"No. Long after that."

"What did he do to you? I bet he tortured—"

"I did nothing to her." They both started at the raspy voice. Katara cursed his silent tread and herself for not paying attention. Suppose she had the same inattention if he happened to have a dagger or a fireball in his hand?

"You tied me to a tree in front of a gang of pirates, and you stole my mother's necklace and taunted me with it!"

Jet was looking at her worriedly, but with a strange look in his eyes. "Tied you to a—"

Zuko held up his hands placatingly. "I didn't steal it."

"Please!" Katara scoffed. "You did too!"

"I admit I did capture you and try to bribe you, and that was wrong, but—"

"Oh, save it!" Katara whirled away from his lying face and shoved her wooden spoon back into the packed rice pot and dumped a portion of it into Jet's bowl first, then a serving of the stir-fry onto an empty plate. "Jet, can you help me pass out the food?"

Zuko was stepping forward, reaching out, but she ignored him, jerking away from him. "Katara, do you—"

"Just sit down and wait your turn, Zuko." She snarled, smacking down some rice onto Aang's plate with a vengeance.

* * *

"What do you want?"

She didn't like the way Zuko was eyeing her, bare feet, loose blue dress without leggings, and painstakingly-combed hair with her crossed arms below her breasts. Katara tapped her foot and waited with an impatient frown. He stepped forward.

"I just want to ask you why I get smaller portions than the others do."

"I don't know what you're referring to."

"Look." Zuko ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "I usually forage later on, and I used to have a bit of a stockpile of dried fruits and fireflakes in my room, but that's since run out, and I'm getting_ frustrated_, Katara."

She almost jolted when he said her name, but she kept her face composed, with the exception of a raised eyebrow. "So?"

"I know I've done terrible things. I'm sorry I hurt you. But it can't go on like this; I'm teaching Aang the more advanced Firebending techniques, and it requires a lot of energy that I need to replenish, Katara."

Katara didn't know what infuriated her more—his short and likely insincere apology, his demanding tone, the way he said Aang's name as if they were close friends, his wheedling, how he said her name, again. But she especially didn't like how he refused now to look at her, instead staring at the floor as if in contrition or humility, pah! She shoved a loose lock out of her face and hissed, since she didn't want to wake up the sleeping inhabitants of the Western Air Temple, "Keep foraging,_ Prince_ Zuko."

He looked at her calmly, though his fist were clenched. "If you need help cooking or passing out all the food, I can help."

"Jet does that for me." He then slapped her with a colder look. How _dare_ he try to make her feel ashamed or act as if she were below him!

"Do you really know what he does?"

"He's changed." Katara was aware of it was just the two of them, their voices echoing in the dark. "Unlike you."

"He attacked my uncle and me at the teashop in Ba Sing Se, claiming that we were Firebenders."

"You _are_ Firebenders."

"That's not the point!" He pressed his fingers around the bridge of his nose. "We wanted to blend in because Azula was after us. If we were caught by anyone—the Earth Kingdom or Azula—we would be executed."

"She wouldn't kill family—you joined her! You wouldn't have joined her if she was threatening to murder you!" Katara poked her finger into Zuko's chest. "You liar. You're trying to get me to trust you again, bait me—"

"Because I've had that intention that whole time in the cave!" He stepped away from her, pushed her hand aside. "You don't know what Azula's like, what I was like—"

"Oh, I understand perfectly!" The Waterbender made an effort to lower her increasing volume, her fists clenched, mimicking Zuko's stiff posture. "I understand that you took advantage of me, betrayed me—"

"Betrayed you! You betrayed _me_!" Fire flickered from between his nostrils. It would have been comical if the already tense situation wasn't quickly building up into an explosion.

"Oh, that's rich! _That is so rich!_ I somehow betrayed _you_? By what? Refusing to heal that horrible scar on your face?"

He brushed past her after a long period of silence, jaw clenched. "Just go to Jet, will you? Spend the rest of the night mocking me, like you always do. That's what your relationship is built upon, right?"

* * *

They decide to take a day trip. Everyone is jittery and restless and snappish, and it's only a matter of time before something gives. So Sokka studies a map, with Zuko over his shoulder, and they choose a little spot nearby, secluded and surrounded by trees, but close enough to the Air Temple without having to saddle up Appa. Feeling cheered, they get ready—Katara plans to make a picnic lunch and first dresses in her Fire Nation robe because she wants some change. Jet admires this, but tells her that it would be better if it were blue, the shade of her eyes.

Katara is annoyed that no one notices that most of the food is gone, and that she has to make a quick jaunt to the marketplace because her brother outright refuses to hunt while he's going to be on "vacation." Aang won't, Haru scares the game too much, The Duke takes on Sokka's attitude, and Jet shrugs apologetically. Zuko goes with her, because "he knows the terrain and atmostsphere more," and Jet tags along.

She buys the necessary supplies and bargains down the shopkeepers so they have a extra money set aside for an emergency. Zuko and Jet are arguing again, and she is trying to distract them by asking both to carry some of the food when a loud gong echoes throughout the area. They all freeze, and their hands drop to their weapons, when someone shoves them to the side and tells them to have more respect for the procession.

The gong continues, but drums are added to it in a slow dirge. Then there's wailing.

The man at the head of the procession, an official dressed in what looks like the Fire Sages' garb with a few differences, reads from a long scroll.

"People of Gan Hui, sorrow has touched the shores of the Fire Nation. Agni, the blood that has run through the Royal Family's veins for generations, weeps for the dead lost in the Siege of the North."

Katara gasps, hears a sharp intake of breath at her side.

"The men were stolen by the savage and cruel wrath of the spirit of the moon and drowned in the Northern Water Tribe's chilled sea. They have fallen under the North's brutal assault. We have waited for loved ones to return to us. But there is none. These brave and honorable men have perished. They will not be forgotten, nor will their valiant efforts and deeds." He strode solemnly to the center of the street and raised both hands. The crowd bowed, fist against a raised palm. "We lay these souls to rest, by the power of Agni."

The Waterbender hears nothing else. All she can think of is slamming two Fire Nation soldiers into the frigid seas, the water that was topped with ice floes, the currents that took a little girl who fell through the ice, the waves that hid the cold, the icy knives that stung bare flesh and make teeth grit, even under the thickest parka. She sees Aang, not himself, destroying the ships and raising waves taller than any of the ice palaces—at the time, she felt awed and even a bit triumphant, but all she can think about are bodies under the sea.

And how many people had she condemned? She hadn't given it too much thought until now, but her ice was just as deadly as the Northern Sea and her water blasts could knock over five soldiers. All those people—not just at the Northern Water Tribe...

_I'm a killer._

Zuko is paler than she's ever seen him before when the list of the dead is read. It is a long list, but he stands numb when "Lieutenant Jee" pierces through the air like an arrow fired, and all he could do is bow his head. He stares blankly at the ground, and his hands shake. Jet looks dispassionate, almost apathetic, but Katara is nearly trembling from the list, the long list, and the fact she helped make the list that long. She and Zuko glance at each other, and a look passes between them that she can only describe as understanding.

The ceremony ends, and they start to shuffle back to camp.

"What do you call a thousand soldiers at the bottom of the North Sea?" Jet mutters to himself with a smirk. "A good start."

Katara whirls around and punches him. Blood drips from his nose. When the necessary yelling and reluectant healing is over, Jet grumbles, "They were invading your sister tribe and killing your people. They were evil."

"Most soldiers now are forcibly drafted." Zuko interjects sharply. "They're threatened."

"They should desert, then, if they disagree."

"And bring death or worse upon their families and themselves?"

Jet opens his mouth to say something, but Katara cuts him off. "You don't know the situation they're in, Jet." She thinks of the hopeless villagers at Jang Hui, the naive students at Aang's school, the coughing industrial workers, the scrawny children that played in the alley as they shopped. She thinks of Zuko's crew, faceless to her, but wondering if one of those children are one of theirs, raised to hate, raised to kill. She looks at Zuko's dull eyes and recognizes grief, suffering, pain—and knowledge. He's fingering the edge of his basket and not looking at any of them. She wonders if Jee would have made it to the group if he was still alive.

Katara moves her food around her plate listlessly, later, at the little spot, sitting on a thick blanket. She and Zuko sit together, legs touching, silent. Zuko has a double helping of curry, sprinkled with fire flakes. He glances briefly in her direction, and Katara thinks she sees a bit of the sadness softening.

* * *

The night is unusually windy, and little droplets are hitting the temple. Aang is looking up at the sky and wondering if he should close the panels that acted like a screen against storms, but they're all waiting for Sokka to return with Chit Sang and Hakoda with some game. They're all tense, and Katara keeps moving so her thoughts don't wander off and tangle as they do when she's worried. Toph is flicking pebbles at everyone, which isn't exactly helping matters, and Jet's trying to get the fire started for the rice and for warmth. The spark rocks snap and spit, but nothing's happening. Toph groans impatiently.

"I'm trying, okay?" Jet huffs impatiently. Zuko, behind him, his face unreadable, is fetching various cooking instruments with barking orders from Katara. The clatter soon echoes against a brief lightning flash. Their eyes dart to look at the sky, then at each other, then at their working hands. Zuko chops the vegetables and shoots Katara a look, which she doesn't see.

Jet exclaims in relief when the wood begins to smoke, but the tiny flames are soon extinguished by the increasing, pelting rain.

He swears, tries again, striking the green stones against each other furiously. Tiny sparks leap on the wood, but never burn.

"Jet, have you got the fire started yet?" Katara asks distractedly, cooking pot tucked underneath her arm and a bag of rice leaning against her leg as she tries to use a wooden spoon to knock down a salt cellar.

"Not yet, Katara," Jet irritably replies. "The spark rocks aren't working at all; the damn wood isn't—"

The small stack bursts into flames, cracking loudly into the chilly air.

"Whew! That feels warm!" Katara sighs just as she turns around. "That was awfully fast, Jet."

"It was Sparky over here," Toph drawls, leaning back at her place around the fire. "It went up in a few seconds."

Katara couldn't understand why the girl's wide smile rattled her.

* * *

Zuko lights the fires from now on.

It's odd, Katara thinks, how she used to think when it was Jet's little routine, it was hardly noticeable and just an eye-blink of small gratitude. But when Zuko did, it felt like a provocation and as if a space was opening.

She doesn't exactly dwell on it, but every time she and Jet start to get into insignificant but frequent spats, Katara thinks of the cooking fire. She thinks of Zuko more and in ways that leave her angry and frustrated and tense and wishing. She watches Zuko and Aang's Firebending practices, watches sweat drip down his brow, focuses on Zuko's bare and muscular form, admires how the flames wisp and spin into thin air, offers cool drinks, and touches hands when she holds out the cups. She fights with Jet about The Duke with a new dagger and about being bounty hunters and traveling for years and the necessity of pre-emptive strikes. She and Zuko bump legs when they wash dishes or rinse clothes or put away food or practice bending. She then looks at her father's alert gaze, then at Toph's constant smirks, then at Zuko's soft look that she'd never noticed, then at Jet's hard twist of his mouth whenever Zuko is brought up, and she finally screams at Zuko on a grassy hill after a painful separation and weary air battle. She's being immature, she's not making sense, she's bringing back past hurts, and she feels triumphant and horrified when Zuko's smile breaks down, and she storms away to forget.

He takes her to Yon Rha and holds her afterwards when she cries and wonders if she was a good enough daughter. His fingers run through her hair, and rain pours down on them—herself, him, Appa—but he continues to comfort her. He tells her he's sorry. Jet later tells her he would have done it for her, but she isn't cheered by the sentiment at all. She stares at the blue fabric of her tent, alone, and wonders about the difference between her and him and Zuko.

* * *

The play weeks later was a disaster, and Katara actually fights with Jet for the last time. He starts it by demanding to know about the catacombs and she fuels it by snapping at him that it was _personal and private_ and it all goes downhill from there. There's frenzied grabbing and occasional whispering because people are beginning to stare, so they move to a more private spot behind the theater where Jet grips her hand and asks her if she really wanted a future with him, because he did not think he wanted one with her. Katara yanks her hand away and tells him that she wants a world with peace, and it wouldn't happen if he wanted to go gallivanting all over the continent and kill Fire Nation criminals for the rest of his life.

He starts defending his ideals, and Katara remembers a distinct whistle, a smirk, a relentless swing of swords, a flaming arrow, a deep-seeded prejudice that had never ended. Jet is willing to kill, no hesitation, to make the world better. For the greater good. And Katara is tired of fighting, tired of hatred, tried of death. Perhaps her way isn't the best way. Perhaps mercy did get you killed. Perhaps this is way Jet is still alive.

But Katara cuts Jet off and tells him _it's over_ and leaves in tears.

* * *

Zuko comes to the kitchen, where she's finished having a long cry and refuses to look at him because she looks like a mess. A blanket is draped over her form, the windows are closed so the night breeze doesn't drift in, and the house is silent as he wordlessly squeezes her shoulders. She looks up at him and sighs and likes how he's quiet at the right moments.

He kisses her brow and lights the stove to brew her some tea, and Katara smiles because she loves him.


End file.
